Sacred Space
by Startisparticus2017
Summary: Maybe nothing, might be something. It's just an observation. Our man had that my-partner-is-in-trouble look." Huggy sighed. THIS IS NOT A DEATH FIC. I want to thank Sandy for Beta reading and Maryellen for her support and input. Some mild language


**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or receive compensation for these stories. I simply borrow them.**

 **By Startisparticus 2017 – November 2016/June 2018**

 **Sacred Space: A sense of safety. The feeling of being whole and tranquil. The essence of being content and encompassed. The embracement of everything that is serenity.**

 **Sacred Space**

At The Pits, Hutch sat accompanied by two beautiful women. The place was hopping with patrons of every make and kind. Huggy made his way over with a tray of colorful umbrella drinks and placed them delicately on the table. "A little jungle juice for the captivating feline. Enjoy ladies!" The dark man winked as he placed the tray under his arm. The pretty blonde and brunette smiled as they took their drinks and sipped through the straws.

Hutch seemed preoccupied as he looked toward the doorway. He was in search of his partner who was very late. "Thanks, Hug!" He smiled then resumed his focus toward the entryway.

Huggy looked at Hutch inquisitively, his eyes wide as he shifted to one side and placed his hand on his hip. "Where's the dark-haired better half? "

Hutch glanced toward the ladies then smiled. "Your guess is as good as mine. He should have been here over an hour ago." His eyes made contact with Huggy. Embarrassment flushed his features.

Huggy raised his shoulders and shook his head as he walked away.

The brown-haired woman to Hutch's right sipped her umbrella drink of lime green and pink. She leaned against the unsettled blond man's arm. "I hope your friend gets here soon; Brenda and I have to fly out early in the morning." She kissed his shoulder playfully. "Please excuse us, Ken." The women went to the ladies room.

Hutch stood and made his way to the pay phone near the kitchen. Clumsily he entered the change and dialed. "Come on, Starsk!" After several rings, the answering machine answered. Hutch looked at the clock it read 10:45 pm. Frustrated, he tapped the hook switch, put more change in, and dialed the station.

"Bay City PD, Minnie speaking." Her voice was as soft as butter and comforting.

Hutch looked around the busy smoky bar. "Minnie, its Hutch."

Minnie was a fixture at the PD; she loved the boys. "Hey, Hutch what can I do for you?"

Hutch leaned against the wall. "Say have you seen or heard from, Starsky?"

She grabbed a chart on the table beside her. "No, sweetie, you boys had the last two days off, didn't you?"

Hutch shook his head, and then pinched the bridge of his nose briefly with his fingers. "Yeah."

Minnie pulled a schedule roster. She raised her eyebrows. "Listen, since when does Starsky take time off without Hutch?" She tilted her head slight to the side curiously.

Hutch cocked his head sideways. "Ah, what are you talking about?"

Minnie placed her finger on the page of the clipboard. She double-checked herself. "Says here you are on desk duty next week, he's off." Her voice held a tone of surprise.

Hutch at a loss for words. Concern and confusion lacquered his features. He puckered and pulled his bottom lip inward. "I wasn't aware of that." He glanced around the bar momentarily. "When was the scheduled changed?"

Minnie moved the schedule book over on the desk. "Well, honey, it looks like this was changed yesterday." She grabbed the message book to her left. "Oh darn almost forgot, Dr. Hinsdale called; seems Starsky's missed two appointments." She pushed her black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Say, is everything okay with Mr. Dark and Wonderful? Are the two of on the outs again?"

Hutch now very confused as Hinsdale was a psychiatrist Starsky was seeing. It was mandatory for his partner to attend the sessions as part of his reinstatement following his medical leave. "No. I don't know what's going on. I'll let him know, Minnie, thanks." He responded scratching his head.

The brown-haired woman sighed. "If you ask me, Hutch, something is brewing in that curly-headed brain of his. Your partner's been too quiet."

The worried detective leaned against the wall near the phone booth. A sudden rush of adrenaline rushed through his veins. "Thanks Minnie. If he calls in, tell him I'm looking for him.

Dr. Hinsdale was a department psychiatrist. Starsky met with him every two weeks as part of his return after his shooting at the police department garage at the hands of James Gunther. A psychiatric evaluation was a requirement from the department as standard procedure to return to active duty.

Hutch hung the handset onto the receiver of the phone. He was deep in thought, and he had an uneasy feeling. His mind trailed to the past week. Starsky had not been himself, a little moody and distant. Since his partner's return to the department, the blond avoided the usual mother-hen routine. A crowded David Starsky was an unruly lion in a cage. Hutch had not spoken to his partner in 24 hours, and that in itself was very unusual. He looked around the bar once again; the two women stood by their table and were putting their jackets on. Hutch made his way over. "Ladies?" He smiled, blushing slightly.

The brunette leaned in and kissed Hutch on the cheek. The blonde did the same. "Ken we need to go. I was so looking forward to meeting David. We'll catch you in two weeks?" Brenda smiled and winked as she turned to exit.

Hutch smiled bashfully. "Ah sure, see you then. " He watched them leave.

Hutch grabbed his glass of beer from the table, walked over to the bar, and sat at the end. A dark cloud hung over him as he sipped his beer in deep thought. Stirring in his thoughts was a conversation or lack thereof as his partner rode shotgun. He remembered his partner was quiet and avoided eye contact. The usual boisterous personality seemed extinguished. It had not been for lack of effort, but Hutch recalled on numerous occasions asking him if everything was all right, Starsky grinned. "Define all right. What is all right? How does all right feel?" Despondently, the brunet responded.

Hutch remembered it was strange and out of character. He chalked it up to a bad session with Dr. Hindsdale. The week had been chaotic which resulted in all work and small talk.

Huggy walked over and leaned on the bar. "No show on the brunet turkey, huh?"

Hutch covered his mouth, and then chuckled as his hand slid down. "No. Starsky's fashionably late, but never a no show." Worried blue eyes met the chocolate brown ones before him.

Huggy grabbed a towel and wiped the counter. "Might be none of my business, but Curly was in late yesterday afternoon."

Hutch played with the condensation that trickled down the side of the glass. A stunned pair of blue eyes widened as they looked at Huggy. Huggy poured another glass of beer and set it out for Hutch. "He was in a mood, almost took out Hank Dockham just for breathing." Huggy continued cleaning; he sighed and raised an eyebrow. "He wasn't drinkin' the usual beer. Thought the two of you were on the outs." The tall slender man leaned forward and pointed to his neck. "There's a mark here where he nearly bit my head off."

Hutch looked down at the bar; he was deep in thought. The surge of uncertainty and concern slammed his core. "Your are the second person to ask if we are on the outs. Not that I am aware of, Hug!"

Huggy stopped what he was doing, leaned on the bar again. "It's not healthy for old Huggy Bear when salt and pepper are separated. When you were down with the plague, Starsky confronted Roper. The word from Gus Leoni is that Starsky went dark. Being a cop was the last thing on his mind, if you know what I mean. Heck, he lost it on me. Somethin's got our boy in twisted white boxers and singin' the blues in soprano." The dark man's eyes were wide with fact and worried.

Hutch looked at Huggy; his partner never really gave him much detail about what had unfolded during his time in the hospital. The one thing that was definite, he understood what it was like to almost lose a partner and your mind.

"Maybe nothing, might be something. It's just an observation. Our man had that my-partner-is-in-trouble look." Huggy sighed.

Hutch remembered situations where his partner would react out of pure adrenaline and emotion, and if it had to do with him, he was unstoppable. The blond sipped his beer. He remembered Minnie's comment about Dr. Hinsdale, and missed appointments, along with her observation of his quiet behavior. His partner was a no-show for their date, scheduled days off without his knowledge. Hutch took another sip, pulled some cash from his pocket, and placed it on the bar. The tall stance and stiff posture displayed a man looking for answers. "Thanks. Hug, if he shows, tell him I'm looking for him. Time I find out what's going on with my partner."

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Hutch did not waste any time and drove to Starsky's place. As he pulled up, he could see dim lights, but the Torino was not there. It was possible Starsky had the car at Merle's for a tune-up. He was always complaining it needed a tune up or the suspension was not right. The tall blond exited his vehicle and sprinted up the steps. He knocked, and then reached for the key hidden under the door frame and unlocked the door. He held the key in his hand as though afraid to release it. A strange sensation overtook him as he returned the key to the secret hiding place. The detective instincts engaged as he entered slowly and looked around. He noticed newspaper clippings scattered on the coffee table from different cases. A photo album was on the floor near the far wall. It appeared to have been thrown. Hutch saw a statue broken on the floor; Rosey Malone, the daughter of a syndicate crime boss, had bestowed it upon Starsky. The brunet had fallen in love with her, unfortunately she chose her father and left.

Hutch crouched down and took a piece of the shattered artifact into his hand. He stood and looked around, walked toward the bedroom. The bed was unmade. He noticed on the floor in the far corner more clippings, and photos. What he saw next sent chills down his spine, near the wall an empty bottle of whiskey. This made Hutch extremely uncomfortable. Starsky liked his occasional nip, but never a bottle at a time. Hutch crouched and looked at the pictures of Terry Roberts, the love of his partner's life, murdered by George Prudolm and next to that, another photo of Rosie.

He noticed a newspaper clipping of the fallen officers that Prudolm had murdered. A young black kid, Loni Craig was shot during a robbery by Starsky. The brunet faced a full investigation and publicized inquiry. Prudolm used Loni's death and high profile trial in a power play to get Starsky to resign. Hutch put his head down. This was stirring feelings within himself. He could only speculate what Starsky was feeling.

Hutch stood and noticed more pictures to the right of him; he walked over and crouched. He scanned over them; they were pictures of him and Starsky during the academy days. He grasped an older picture; the person in the picture looked almost identical to Starsky. It was Starsky's father as a young police officer. Hutch knew that was a kick in the gut, as Starsky adored his father.

He placed the picture back and moved a few more photos. Under the small stack planted face down was an older picture with a list of names. Hutch turned it over slowly; it was a picture of a young Starsky with ten other men in army fatigues. Hutch held the black and white portrait and ran his thumb over it. "What's going on, Starsk?"

He placed the picture on the bed and walked back into the living room. Hutch went to the phone and saw there were several messages, he hit the play button, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"David this is Dr. Hinsdale please call me at your earliest convenience." Hutch's eyebrows lifted. The next message began. "David this is your mother, you haven't called. Aunt Rosie says you are a busy boy, and I should not be a pest. Call your mother, love you my baby boy." Hutch grinned and found that amusing and adorable. The next message. "David this is Dr. Hinsdale, you missed the second appointment, please return my call?" Hutch pinched his lips together and frowned. The next message startled him to the very core and sent a chill down Hutch's spine. "Hey Dave, I know you are at work, needed to hear your voice, I love you!" Hutch was stunned. It was Terry's voice, and his partner still had the message after all this time. The machine stopped.

Hutch felt guilty for listening, but he also knew he needed to know what was going on with his partner. He went to the closet and opened it; Starsky's backup gun was missing. He looked down and noticed on the floor a large green duffle bag. Hutch pulled it out and unzipped it to find neatly folded clothes and a passport. Hutch zipped it up and pushed it back in. He ran his hand through his hair. He looked around again.

"Where the hell are you going, partner?"

Hutch walked over to the counter and noticed a neatly folded piece of paper and Starsky's badge fold placed upon it. A cardboard box near the items housed his gun and holster. Shock emanated from his features, he hesitated with trembling fingers and took the badge in his hand. He rubbed his thumb over it, placed it aside, and unfolded the paper. Hutch's feature resembled a freshly slapped face and was blank; he just stared and muttered out loud.

"I, David M. Starsky, respectfully give notice of my resignation." Hutch dropped the paper. He leaned against the counter and bowed his head. "How could you have missed this? DAMMIT! What the hell is going on?"

Hutch stood and cupped his mouth with one hand and looked around frantically. He took off his jacket, flung it on the chair by the table, and started picking up the pictures. The blond desperately needed to burn off the anger and frustration, most of all the unsettling panic within him. He went into the bedroom to retrieve the empty bottle and gather all the photos. His shaky hands placed them neatly into the top drawer of Starsky's nightstand. Hutch went into the kitchen and glared at the badge and letter. He paused and opened the bottom cupboard door then slammed the empty bottle into the trash. It shattered upon impact. He flung his arms up in frustration. "DAMMIT! What the hell is going on with you, Starsky? His voice was loud and consumed the small apartment.

The sound of paper crumbling startled him. He froze and turned to notice Starsky standing in the doorway. He kicked the door closed with his left foot. The usually clean shaven face was covered with a twenty-four hour stubble. A paper bag was tucked under one arm and his keys in hand. He looked at Hutch as though he was a mouse trapped in a cat's mouth. Starsky quickly disengaged the eye contact, walked to the table, and placed the bag down. He tossed his keys on the table. The temperature in the room dropped and was felt by both. Hutch leaned his lower back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

Starsky reached into the bag, pulled a bottle of whiskey, and placed it on the table, along with a six-pack of beer. He delivered the beer to the refrigerator. He did not make eye contact with Hutch. The distinctive rigid shoulders ready to pounce prey displayed the message 'back off, partner.' "What are you doing here?" The brunet's voice weathered with a rasp as he spoke.

Hutch sighed, lifted his hand, and scratched the side of his neck. "You didn't show for our date. I was worried."

Starsky pulled his jacket off and hung it on a coat rack near the door. He slowly swaggered back to the table and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. His steps slow and methodical as he went to the cupboard near Hutch and pulled two glasses. He opened the bottle and poured one glass.

"No thanks." His voice held tension. He lifted his shoulder in a defensive manner as he pushed a stray blond hair away from his cheek.

Starsky glanced, looked away, took the glass, and slugged a long sip. He noticed all the clippings and the photo album were placed on the coffee table. His face resembled a façade of stone and was unreadable. "Moonlighting as a maid?"

Hutch grinned, shrugged his shoulders. "The way this placed looked, thought you might need one. Oh, you're welcome."

Starsky sat on the arm of the couch and chugged the dark amber liquid down. He glanced at his partner. "Ah, the truth is, it slipped my mind…the date. Sorry."

Hutch looked up unfolding his arms and placed his hand on the counter to steady himself. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. "Private party?"

Starsky noted the edge in Hutch's voice. To anyone else it would go unnoticed. His finger's tapped the side of the glass. "I'm entitled aren't I?" Annoyance trickled through his words.

Hutch walked toward the living room with his hands to the side. His fists were closed and his thumbs rubbed the sides. His demeanor was calm on the outside but a towering inferno inside. "It's just a question."

Starsky shrugged his shoulder, and then stretch his right arm to loosen a kink. He made his way to the kitchen and poured another glass of whiskey.

Hutch sat on the arm of the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. The smoking volcano of tension elevated between them. "Do you really need that?" The question left the blond's lips with a bite.

Starsky looked up, back down again. His face stained with unease. "What if I don't? What if I do? What if I just want a drink? Do I need your permission?" His head bowed, he raised his eyes that displayed blood shot rays of indigo blue. "Don't start, Hutch."

Hutch stood abruptly. His voice a little louder, concern trickled through his words. "Don't start what, STARSK?" Hutch began to pace.

Starsky leaned against the counter; his eyes were dark tunnels of emptiness and anger.

Hutch glanced over at him. "What's going on with the booze, the pictures, and the packed bag? Do you care to clue me in, partner?" Hutch did not want to ask about the letter. His heart did not want to hear the answer. His emotions and frustration seeped through his words, but calmly, he stood with his head down and waited for an answer.

Starsky took another sip of liquid courage. "First class Detective-gotta give you that; respect my privacy Hutch, remind me to change my lock will ya!"

Hutch spun around and walked toward him. His stance was tall. His shoulders were wide and rigid, as he looked him directly in the eyes. Blue ice meets indigo blue. He placed his hand on his partner's arm. "The booze talking, Buddy? We have been together too long for this kind of crap. So park the tough guy routine and talk to me, Starsky."

Starsky pulled his arm away. He looked at his long time friend, raised his glass, and took a drink. "I'll drink to the part about being together too long!" He moved away to refill his glass.

Hutch's heart sank; it would have hurt less for Starsky to punch him than what he just said. Desperate, he grabbed the letter and the badge and held it in front of the dark-haired man. His eyes filled with frustration. "Plan on clueing me in?" His hand trembled as he displayed a white knuckled grip.

Starsky sipped again and looked at Hutch. Deep inside he hurt, he battled his conscience to stop and apologize. He needed to do this…he needed out. He swaggered his way past Hutch, calmly. "Spare us the soapy scenes. Some things have come up with the shrink. Seems you and me are incompatible. Besides, you make it clear daily Hutch, you do. Ya hate my car, my choice of food. Your lack of interest in my so-called, ridiculous trivia. Oh, let's not forget the comments about the way I dress. Face it, Stanley, I'm a ball and chain-or is it a noose?" He waved the glass and pointed his finger. "Kenneth Hutchinson, college graduate who slums around with Dave Starsky from the streets of New York. Ya know, you're correct, ya do deserve better." He winked mischievously.

Hutch slammed the badge and paper back onto the counter, eyes pierced the man before him. "Come off it, Starsk. You can do better than that."

Starsky slugged the whiskey down in one swallow. He knew this was not going to be easy, and did not want to do it. He had to for Hutch's sake. "I'm done, fini'! Out of here! Use your skills, Detective; after all, you were always the educated one of the team. Ya have class, looks, and brains…what more can ya ask for?" The words were caramelized and stung with a New York street punk sarcasm.

Hutch looked at him with disbelief glazed over his face. He grabbed the badge from the counter and tossed it at his juvenile partner. He missed him by inches. He then grabbed the letter and ripped it in half as his anger soared. "I deserve better than this, Pal. These are pathetic excuses!"

Starsky made his way back to the kitchen for more booze. His shoulders now exhibited stress, defense. "Like the time you were gonna quit! Toss your badge in the ocean without me. Now that exhibited the Me and Thee philosophy, didn't it, Buddy old pal?" Starsky poured the booze, taking a long sip. "Tired of playing cops and robbers."

Hutch put his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Oh, that's wonderful, just like that?"

Starsky knew it was going to be difficult. He had to do this. No more pain, no more loss, and most of all, not losing Hutch to death."

Hutch without warning whisked past his partner and went to the kitchen. In a huff, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured it down the drain.

Starsky spun around and grabbed his arm turning him around. The bottle crashed onto the floor. "It's my party, my choice, back off!" His blue eyes displayed anger and no-nonsense.

Hutch roughly pulled his arm from Starsky's grip. He looked him directly in the eyes then swung his hand ejecting the glass from the dark-haired man's hand. The glass flew into the living room and shattered upon hitting the floor.

Starsky was hurting deep inside. It was killing him, but he had to do this. His subconscious strategically built a wall with mortar buttered onto each brick. "I'm tired partner, tired of the streets. I can't do this anymore, Hutch! The shrink tells me, David, find a sacred space, create it. I don't feel it anymore; nothing is sacred. It's all for nothing, ALL FOR NOTHING! You the White Knight, Mr. Credentials. Your partner oh so street smart, but not so intellectually sophisticated as the all mighty, Kenneth Hutchinson. You don't think I hear it, but I do, the whispers. David Starsky, the butt of the joke." His words were harsh, but inside he felt sick. "The Kira thing, you didn't back off even when I told you how I felt! Oh fuck this, get out, GET OUT!"

Kira was a sore subject for both men as she played them, as they so often played women. She was a female officer who worked on the stakeout with both men during a murder spree at a dance hall.

Hutch was stunned by the aggressive nature his friend displayed; he ran his hand through his hair. The imaginary brick wall subconsciously built by his partner blocked the blond. His hands shook. He took a deep breath. Starsky walked past him to the paper bag on the table and pulled another bottle of spirit, opened it and took a long swig; he wiped his face with his sleeve. His eyes wild with emotion.

Hutch turned, putting his hands to his face and swiped downward; he looked at Starsky, sighed. "I've never thought those things about you, NEVER!" He raised his finger and pointed at him, eyes filled with hurt and disbelief. "However, I think that the booze and whatever is going on in that mind of yours is lashing out because something has got you spooked, Starsky. You don't mean what you are saying. I know you. The David Starsky I know would never hurt me or anyone he cared about." Hutch glared at him with eyes of determination, his voice soft. "Talk to me. Out with it?" The blond's words were a whispered plea.

Starsky almost broke down and gave in; this was killing him inside to hurt Hutch. However, this was to save Hutch, or so he thought it was. He tightened his jaw and focused with angry eyes. "Detective David Michael Starsky no longer exists; he's the past, so fucking long, sucker." Starsky pointed to his heart. "DEAD, you hear me DEAD. Died in that hospital bed. Thanks to James Gunther, Hutch." Starsky poured liquor down his throat.

Hutch dropped his hands down to his side and clenched his fists, his heart heavy. "Don't throw it away Gordo, let's call Hinsdale. We can work this out. All the years I've known you, never…never, have you talked like this. You have always been the bottle is half full."

The brunet lowered his head; he couldn't look at Hutch. "Yeah, in this case it's half empty." He wanted so much to stop but he could not. Starsky placed the bottle on the table; he walked toward Hutch, grabbed his shirt with two hands, and pushed him against the wall. His jaw tight, eyes wide and wild. The blond partner did not fight back. He glared into dark pools of glassy blackness.

"Screw Hinsdale, no working this out! DO YOU HEAR ME? I'm not asking; I'm telling you to leave!" His body quivered with emotions.

Hutch closed his eyes, bowed his head, exhaled and gently touched the tight gripped hands on his shirt. Starsky backed away, disengaging the hold on his partner's shirt. Hutch adjusted his shirt and located his jacket. He headed for the door and stopped with his back to his partner. "I don't' believe you. This conversation is far from over!" His face stern, jaw rigid and the tone of voice calm, but direct. He opened the door, walked out, and slammed it. The noise went through Starsky like an explosion, he startled. Starsky's eyes watered as his jaw tightened and fought the emotional outburst that threatened.

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It was morning although Hutch had not slept much. The phone rang and startled the exhausted blond. "Hello." His voice stained with sleep.

"Detective Hutchinson?" The voice was familiar.

Hutch rubbed his face and scanned the room. "You got him!" He looked at the clock, which read 8:30 am.

"This is Dr. Hinsdale."

Immediately this caught Hutch's attention; he swung his feet to the floor and sat up straight. "Ah yes, Dr. Hinsdale."

The man sighed. "It's been a while since we've spoken. David listed you as an emergency contact, and well, I'm concerned."

Hutch cleared his throat. "You and me both."

Dr. Hinsdale sat back in his chair; the creaking trickled through the phone. "I cannot discuss David's sessions in detail, Detective Hutchinson."

Hutch heard the concern; this made him even more uneasy. "I understand. This is between us."

The Doctor looked at his notes that lay upon his desk. "Without going into too much detail, David's last two sessions spiraled, he didn't make the following two."

Hutch looked around as though he was looking for answers. "I saw him last night, he wasn't in a good frame of mind, and he'd been drinking. He threw me out."

Doctor Hinsdale touched his chin, sighed. "Detective!"

Hutch cut him off. "Call me Ken, please?"

The doctor smiled. "I was afraid of that." The doctor sighed; he played with the pen on the desk. "Ken, aside from his mother, you are all he has. His brother, well I'm sure you know the situation?"

Hutch heard the words, his stomach tensed, and his heart softened. "What are you saying, Dr. Hinsdale?"

The Doctor dropped the pen. "If anyone can get through to him, it is you. He mentioned O'Reilly and Dogman, partnered twenty years. Dogman died in the line of duty. The rumor has it, they were much like you and David."

Hutch remembered how Starsky's enthusiasm ended that day. Hutch ran his hand through his hair. "It hit all of us hard. They were a good team and- best-of-friends!" As the words left his lips it suddenly made sense to Hutch this is what has been bothering his partner.

"Ken, you understand, don't you?" The question hung in the air as the doctor took a deep breath.

Hutch was amazed and frustrated at the same time. "Dr. Hinsdale, he's afraid to lose me, us. It puts the 'what if's' into overdrive! He's afraid to lose again. Starsky knew how I felt when he…when he was in that hospital bed. We never talked about it. I never told him. But he knows and he is scared to death."

The doctor sighed. "Couldn't have said it better myself, Ken. Ken, do you recall your state of mind prior to the shooting? Stress, daily trauma along with the near losses can trigger many things within a mind."

Hutch stood abruptly. "I damn near destroyed a partnership and friendship with my self-destructive behavior. What can I do?"

Doctor Hinsdale sat back and adjusted his gray-rimmed glasses. "Talk to him, try to convince him to come see me. I will clear my schedule."

Hutch was at a loss. The doctor sensed it. "Ken, he's on a cliff, hold your hand out. Do what comes naturally between you and David. Do you remember your sacred space, Ken?"

Hutch stood there as it hit him like a ton of bricks, his mouth opened with shock. "It's what kept me sane every moment of every day."

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Hutch drove to Starsky's place, sat a few houses away, and watched. The Torino was parked in its usual spot. He watched as his partner brought out the trash. He followed him to the liquor store and back. Hutch sat and wondered how he should approach this situation. Perhaps just show up, maybe call, would Starsky answer his phone? He decided that showing up empty-handed was not a good idea; he raced to a nearby Mexican restaurant and ordered some burritos and salads. It was now early evening; the blond pulled the Galaxie up next to the shiny freshly-polished car. He sat in the car for a few moments. "Why am I so nervous?" He thought to himself. "It's just Starsky. It's Starsky in protection mode. I'm the one he thinks he's protecting. The odds would be more in my favor battling a badger."

He exited the car with the take-out in hand and headed up the stairs. He knocked, and then knocked again. He reached for the key, but it was not there. The blond leaned his head on the door with thud. "Open the door, Starsk?" A heavy sigh. "Please?"

The door opened. Starsky walked away toward the couch, he looked exhausted. He leaned on the couch with arms folded against his chest.

Hutch entered and closed the door; he extended the bag. "Burritos, your favorite. Oh, two taco salads too."

Starsky took it and avoided eye contact. He placed the bag on the table, his head low as though defeated. "Thanks."

Hutch's eyes wandered to the duffle bag that sat in the middle of the living room. "Going somewhere?"

Starsky went to the kitchen, picked up the glass of whiskey took a sip. "I…huh…leave tomorrow. I'm gonna surprise, Ma."

Fear and shock overshadowed the blond as he stood there and rubbed his hands together. "When are you coming back?"

Starsky walked over to the counter and leaned, he didn't look at Hutch. He couldn't. "Few days, a month, maybe never."

Hutch felt as though someone punched him in the gut, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He needed to get his composure. "You're really doing this, huh?"

Starsky looked defeated, he sighed. "Yeah."

Awe struck, Hutch knew he had to get through to his partner. "Well, it's early; we got burritos and taco salads. What do you say we eat and have a few beers for old time's sake?" Hutch did not want to sound desperate, but he was.

Starsky looked up and gave his sad friend a half grin. "Kay!"

Without hesitation, Hutch took his jacket off. He entered the kitchen to get plates and utensils. Starsky followed and grabbed two beers. They sat at the table. Time passed quickly. They laughed and talked about precinct politics and gossip.

Hutch sipped his beer, smirked. "You remember when Logger got pinched in the office supply closet with the clerical girl with the big..." He put his hands on his chest in the shape of melons.

The brunet snorted. "Yeah, Minnie opened the door and his trousers were down to the floor in a very compromising position. What was it, heart printed boxers?"

They both laughed hysterically. Starsky rose to his feet, grabbed the plates, and brought them into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and extracted two more beers. He caught his partner looking at his luggage, his face sad. He turned so Hutch would not see his heart breaking and opened the beers. He thought to himself, "Don't do this to me, ya big lummox. Wipe that look off ya face."

Hutch felt himself sinking; a sense of loss overwhelmed him. He had to talk to Starsky before he lost his nerve. He retrieved the empty beer bottles and brought them to the trash. Starsky was lost in his thoughts. He faced the cabinet; Hutch turned to face the living room and leaned his butt against the counter near his friend. Hutch put his head down and played with his fingers. "It's been a hell of a ride, Starsk. At times like a roller coaster without safety belts." Hutch chuckled, raised his right hand, and covered his eyes. "How about the time your brakes were tampered with? No, you jump out!"

Their eyes met briefly, as they laughed. "Louise, the chinchilla!" Starsky snorted, he shook his head. Humor glazed his words.

"You mean the guinea pig," Hutch remembered the time Starsky thought he purchased a chinchilla which was actually a guinea pig.

Starsky slid the beer over to his best friend.

Hutch took a sip of his beer; he bowed his head. "Stay?" The words escaped the blond's lips with softness.

Starsky closed his eyes briefly. The beer in hand, he walked away toward the living room.

Hutch had started and was going to put it all out there. "O'Reilly and Dogman had 20 years together. For each other, with each other, no regrets, living it to the fullest, Buddy. They have wives and children." The softness remained in the tone. Hutch rubbed the side of his face as the sadness filled his eyes.

Starsky refused to look at him; he was hurting badly, his chest and heart hurt. "Dogman's dead, Hutch!"

The blond sighed and walked into the living room. He leaned against the counter near the table. "Yeah, he knew the 'what if's', Starsk. O'Reilly feared every day, Dogman was scared, and it's what we face every day. I spoke to O'Reilly; he said he would not have changed a thing. We all know death is inevitable. It's what we choose to do before it's too late. I almost lost you! Remember?"

Starsky drank some beer; he walked over to sit in the wicker chair. His head down, sadness, but most of the fear left its smudge on his features. "Don't Hutch." Vulnerability was present in Starsky's voice.

Hutch knew he needed to keep pushing. "Don't what, Starsk? Stop you from throwing away your career and pushing me away? Stop us from living every moment like we don't have tomorrow?" His face held tension. "I could have a heart attack and collapse on the floor and die. You, me…either one of us. It's out of our hands, Starsky."

The spiral of emotions, the deep darkness of dread and doom consumed the dark-haired detective. "Stop! I can't, it's best this way!" Starsky shouted as he focused on the floor ahead.

Hutch inched his way closer and leaned on the couch. He rubbed his forehead. "You can't, it's best this way. What does that mean, WHAT? Don't I get a say in any of this?"

Without warning, Starsky threw his beer bottle across the room; he put his hands to his head. "Hutch let this go! PLEASE?"

Hutch bowed his head, raised his eyes that now beamed blue raw emotion. "NO!" He threw his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck. "Paint me a picture that I can't refuse to buy, Starsk."

Starsky's emotions simmered within him, how could he make his partner understand? There was no choice but to end it. "How's this for a family portrait, Hutch? My father, Terry, Rosie everyone I love dies or leaves. All because of me, Hutch. Those cops were doing their jobs and were gunned down. There is a volcano inside ready to explode." He pointed to his chest as his body trembled. "A twenty-year veteran cop has to continue without his partner. The man he called his best friend. I CAN'T LOSE YA! There I've said it." He clenched his jaw. "I might have been in a coma, but I felt what you were goin' through. We never talked about it. Hell we avoided it." His chin quivered. "You were there by my bed. You couldn't touch me, because if you did it would be real. I know you were hell bent on findin' the bastard that hurt me. You thought I was goin' to die. You said it. I also knew if I died, you weren't far behind me." Starsky jumped to his feet and grabbed his bag.

The blond used his long legs to his advantage and shortened the distance. He grabbed the fiery brunet's arm and spun him around. He pointed to his heart, grabbed Starsky's hand, and placed it on his heart. "Do you feel this? When you lay on the pavement with bullet holes in you, I NEVER once said I'm running because I can't bear the thought of losing you. I was scared Starsky. Hell, I'm still scared. Feel it, Starsk, feel it! When you hurt, I hurt! What you lose I lose!" Hutch felt the gate open, and he needed to keep pushing.

Starsky's hand shook as he held it there. His eyes watered and his breathing was rapid. He felt Hutch's heart racing as much as his own.

Hutch squeezed his hand, his eyes pleaded. "I can't promise I wouldn't have those thoughts again. I'm sorry we never talked about it. I wanted to forget it. You survived that was all that mattered." His voice trembled. "A young man from Duluth, Minnesota met this streetwise New Yorker. He came from the best street-wise stock. He had no fear, no boundaries. He's a tough, kick-ass cop…with compassion, boyish charm, and has a huge heart. This man taught me something about friendship and what family means, mine was certainly dysfunctional. This man I call my partner has proven repeatedly you don't need to be blood to be his brother. He taught me that sticking your neck out is not always rewarding, but if it saves one life, it is worth it." Hutch took a quivered breath. "Dig deep inside, DEEP! You've been through shit in Nam. Starsky, the losses were not your doing, not your fault. I can't promise tomorrow, but we have today. Let's live it to the fullest. Take hold of your sacred space. Don't do this, don't let the darkness win." Hutch's chin quivered. He hesitantly removed his hand from his partner's and released his arm.

Starsky removed his hand from Hutch's chest. He disconnected the eye contact, with duffle bag in hand he turned and went to the door. Starsky stood there; a tear rolled down his cheek. "It's not a space; it's a person. I…love ya, Blintz." Starsky opened the door and left.

Hutch put his hands to his face, wiped it. He sat on the couch shaking his head; a tear came down as he heard the roar of the Torino and the squealing of the tires. "I love you too, Starsk."

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It was late; Hutch lay on his partner's couch with his arm draped over his forehead. The evening's events poured through his mind. On the coffee table sat two bottles of beer. Hutch closed his eyes; visions of Starsky played like a slide show, happy, sad, craziness. When his partner portrayed Ramón a dance instructor and showed his rather exaggerate dance moves. The wild rainy night at an Italian restaurant, Starsky was shot by the trigger happy Joey. Gillian's death; he held him even after the punch and insults. His curly haired partner has always been there and overcome so much. Hutch felt lost, overwhelmed, all at once. He stood and went to the phone and dialed.

Huggy answered. "The Pits, Huggy Bear at your service where the beer is cold and peanuts are plenty."

Hutch closed his eyes, opened them. "The beers are cold. The peanuts are stale. Have you seen Starsky?"

Huggy threw the towel up over his shoulder he smirked. "I'll remember that the next time you devour two bowls. Yeah, Curly was here. He left in a hurry." The thin black man bowed his head in amusement, pulled at the collar of his ultra redshirt. "Drowned his sorrow with a root beer, and said something about ruining his watercolor painting."

Hutch sighed and grinned; he rubbed the side of his face. "I wasn't buying it."

Huggy, leaned against the counter, sighed. "He doesn't leave until noon tomorrow, flight three forty three to New York! I'm betting he doesn't make the flight."

Hutch sighed. "You're the greatest, Hug."

Huggy shook his head. "Bartender, informant, now marriage counselor."

Hutch hung up the phone; he had his back to the door. He heard something hit the floor; he turned to see his partner and the duffle bag on the floor. The semi-brooding brunet closed the door with his foot. He took a few steps, his lips tightly pressed together. "Talked to Dr. Hinsdale. He'd like you to come to a few of my sessions, say's you'd make a good shrink." He fumbled with his hands nervously and placed them behind his back.

Hutch crossed his arms over his chest. "Is that right? If you are comfortable with that? Sure."

Starsky swaggered his way and sat on the arm of the couch. "He thinks having a sacred space is important." He bowed his head and raised his eyes. "Told him the watercolor I painted smudged. I should have used an oil base. It didn't sell." The brunet crossed his arms over his chest, turned his head avoiding eye contact.

Hutch walked closer to him holding back his smile. "Well, Buddy. It was not for the lack of effort."

Starsky pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He ripped it up and dropped it onto the coffee table. Hutch watched as he inched closer. He bit his bottom lip. "Typos!" Starsky grinned slightly; he raised his left hand. "Spelled resignation wrong, wouldn't stick." Starsky kept his head down, played with his fingers, he sighed. "Way I see it, Minnie would miss me."

Hutch smiled, as he put his hands in his pockets. "Minnie?"

Starsky nodded, his face that of a boy. "Dobey would have a heart attack tryin' to find ya a new partner. Seein' as you're so particular."

Hutch grinned and frowned at the same time. "Particular? Well, Buddy, there is only one, and that's yours truly!"

Starsky could feel his emotions rising, his shoulders dropped and his eyes watered. Hutch reached out and pulled his friend to his chest, and wrapped his arms around him. Starsky hugged him back, his words mumbled. He placed his head on his partner's shoulder. "Mmm sorry, Hutch. I didn't mean to hurt ya. Truth is, I'd miss ya, you big lummox." A deep sigh broke through his words.

Hutch held him tight as tears poured, but he smiled. "Welcome back, Buddy! Welcome back, Gordo!"

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Hutch attended some of Starsky sessions. Starsky made great progress, and experienced less anxiety, some of the 'what if's' melted. Hutch found the session beneficial for him as well. He did not realize some of the hidden phobias that plagued him as well; it gave him a better understanding. Hutch learned more about Starsky's experience in Nam. He found himself respecting his dark-haired friend even more.

They both realized that they were not getting younger. The idea of a new career choice may be wise. The so-called Kira issue had been worked out, and put to rest. They vowed never to allow a woman to come between them. Starsky's knew his partner was on a downward spiral at that time. Caught in the whirlwind of being the best at what they do and it slipped their mind that they were human. They forgot Me and Thee equal We. So much had transpired, loss, betrayal and near death experiences.

The lesson at hand learned by the brunet was you could not control destiny or your partner's future. He also learned you couldn't run from the occasional soapy scene. Hutch's lesson was not new to him; it was just a new term or way of looking at it. A sacred space is not always a space. It was a specific dark-haired person that drives a red car with a white stripe. He is thankful he has one.

 **The End**

Note: My Beta Reader Sandy listened to the song, You needed Me. The song is sung by Ann Murray. She wasn't aware of this at the time, but this is the song that inspired me to write this story.


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